Unsettled Dust
by thestubb
Summary: Ed forgets something very important, and Mustang bears the brunt. Al just wants to make it through the day. One shot. Complete.


*soft sobbing* I wrote this like a year ago and never posted it, so I wanted to get this out for FMA Day (10/3 Blaze it) of this year, but I'm a little late. Oh well. Also I wanted to explore the dynamic between the boys and Musty a little, along with some nice rageful Ed. That's always fun. So. Here's this little storm. I hope you enjoy it.

I feel like this is in the years between arriving at Central and the start of the series; it may be a small bit AUish but I don't know. Have fun with it.

Disclaimer: If I owned FMA, I wouldn't be sobbing in my bed over the last line of the last episode of Brotherhood (ViC MIgnogNA YOU GIVE M S)

OoOoO

"Well, who shit in his cereal today?" was the last thing Alphonse heard from the outer office before Ed slammed the door to Mustang's inner sanctum so hard it would take a decently sized circle to repair the cracks sprouting from the frame. It was probably for best, because if not for the somewhat larger distraction of chewing out Mustang, Ed would have made sure Havoc's girlfriends remained suitably chaste for the next few months. Ed's back was somehow simultaneously rock-stiff and slouched so low it was sure to be a medical hazard (something Al wasn't quite sure how his brother accomplished and had no intention of finding out).

"Ahh, it must be a special day," Mustang observed drily from his spinny-chair-throne. "That degree of slouching is reserved only for those particular days when I most want to boot your ass out my door. However little ass there may be."

"Fuck off, you egotistical shitwad," Ed snarled, vitriol coming out in particular vehemence. "Just sign off on my damn report so I can go home." A slap of paper on the already paper filled desk sent a breeze up into Mustang's unperturbed, smug gaze. How the man succeeded in matching Ed's snark-nay, enjoying it-escaped the bounds of Alphonse's comprehension on a normal day, but today seemed a general nuisance. Al found himself wishing the colonel would suddenly find himself as lazy with sarcasm as he did concerning paperwork so the boys could go home and Al wouldn't have to clean up any more messes.

On a day such as this, that was most likely a vain hope.

"Where's the rest of it?"

Yup. Vain hope.

"Whaddaya mean, 'the rest of it'?" Ed scoffed.

Al sighed in resignation.

"Reports are generally supposed to consist of more than two sentences and a rude caricature of your superior. Also, perhaps more explanation than, "That bastard sent us on another fucking goosechase but after a few nights we killed that idiot alchemist. Also we knocked down a building so that bill'll come soon."" Two gloved fingers pushed the paper back in Ed's direction with an air so dainty it should not have been coming from Mustang.

"Oh, okay," Ed answered with thick, feigned patience. "Here, let me fix it for you." His automail hand snatched up a pen from Mustang's sizeable collection and scribbled with a furious air on the paper. His grip was so tense that the thin metal of the casing cracked, sending ink dribbling down Ed's metal fingers like black blood oozing from a wound.

"Sure, Fullmetal, break my favorite pen," Mustang easily egged him on.

Ed's response was to reach out, snag another pen, and crush it between his fingers. Without looking from his chickenscratch, he let the shards fall to the desk as he pushed the paper back towards his superior.

With a raised eyebrow, and a look that said he was wondering whether he had unknowingly crossed a line, Mustang took the paper in hand and scanned it. "Not much improvement," he commented, and Al's glimpse of "EAT MY SHIT" and "GODDAMN USELESS" among the scribbles confirmed this.

"Do you want a fucking essay?" Ed snapped, to which Mustang replied that it might be nice.

"Colonel," Al stepped in carefully, "do you think it would be possible to maybe come back another day with a more substantial report?"

Like some people, Riza Hawkeye among them, Alphonse was a generally calm, relaxed person. His tone was usually polite and easy, his words without the insults his brother was so fond of, his voice without the anger that permeated Ed's. So when his question was laced with the background of _Let us go right now or I swear to God your broken kneecaps will be on your head and your head alone_ , Mustang's time around Riza had indoctrinated him to know the fluxes of these tones and just when he needed to let up. Such as then.

With all the grandiose air of a maharajah, Mustang heaved a sigh and pushed the paper towards Ed. "I suppose. But I expect proper sentence structure, Ed."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed waved him away, already scooting out of his chair and heading towards the door.

The paper stayed in front of his empty chair.

"And punctuation!"

"Bite me," Ed snapped, and had just pushed the door open when Mustang questioned,

"Wait...wasn't this province just outside Resembool? I would have figured you'd stop there and visit your old home. And the girl...what was her name? Winry?"

Never one for foul vocabulary, Alphonse let loose a mental proverbial shit-storm. So close.

Ed stiffened, his head bowed and bangs concealing his face. Suddenly all eyes in both offices were upon him as his fists fluxed, his frame shook. Though his bangs hid his face, the waves of rage and tension roiling from his being so thick everyone was utterly aware of one solid fact:

Mustang was fucked.

"Brother," Al breathed, and reached out a careful hand toward Ed's shoulder.

As Al's gauntlets barely brushed red fabric, Ed violently shied away and stomped onwards, fists weakly punching the air and head held up once again. "Fuck off, old man," Ed snarled as he yanked the door open. "Let's get out of this shit hole, Al."

Alphonse did the best he could to gently close the door, but shutting two separate pieces of oak is harder than it sounds.

"Brother," he stated as he ran to catch up with his rapidly deteriorating brother, "you...you really should calm down."

"I'm perfectly calm," Ed snapped as an intern shrieked in ill-concealed fear as he approached. "Perfectly rational. Don't tell me to calm down, I'm calm!"

"You're scaring people."

"People can go to hell."

"Brother, you're scaring _me_."

Ed froze in his tracks, thereby halting any and all traffic of military employees that might have previously wanted to pass through the hall. His shoulders shook with an infinitesimal tremor, as though his entire being was held together with glue and if he allowed himself to move any further he'd break apart in a shower of pain.

Al placed a hand Ed's shoulder, praying he wouldn't be rejected again. "It's okay."

Ed flinched, but this time allowed the heavy touch. "I forgot, Al."

"No you didn't."

"I did, you know I did!" Ed ran his hands through his bangs, as if that action alone would release whatever tension was binding him. "I fucking forgot! How could I forget?"

"Ed." Al slowly turned his brother to face him, putting his gauntlets on Ed's still shaking shoulders and forcing him to look Al in the eye. "You didn't forget. You always remember."

"I went to bed last night thinking 'You better remember, you better, don't you dare forget' and I woke up this morning and I didn't- _fuck_! How could I forget, Al?!" Ed's voice had somehow transformed from rageful warrior to miserable child in five words flat. "This is literally all I base my life around, and-I forgot."

Al pulled his brother into a hug, Ed's forehead resting on the tip of Al's chestplate. His hands hung loose, his eyes closed in an attitude of complete subjection.

"You didn't forget. You're still getting our bodies back. You still-you still remember Mom. I believe in you. You didn't lose track. Okay? You're didn't do anything wrong." Al prayed his words were getting through to his brother. "Please...please stop beating yourself up."

Ed didn't say anything, barely breathed, but his hands crept up to clutch at Al's back. Caught in a hurricane of emotion and pain and grief, they clung to each other, their lifelines in the complicated life they lived. It was hard, it was painful, it wasn't nice, but they had each other. And Al was glad that Ed could remember that, if only for a few minutes, he could hold onto Al as much as Ed wanted his younger brother to hold onto him.

Ed raised his head with an embarrassed sniff and scrubbed his eyes, a sheepish grin creeping over his features. "Come on," he said, lifting a fist to knock Al's armor fondly. "Let's go home."

He didn't mean the home that went up in flames. He didn't mean the home with a dog and Granny and a Crazy Metal Gearhead. And maybe home wasn't the right word for it; cold military barracks might not be particularly comfy or 'home'-like. But for now, while they thought of the home they had left behind so long ago, it would suffice.

And someday, after their bodies were reclaimed, maybe they would find a new one.

OoOoO

Mustang stared thoughtfully at the remnants of his outer office door long after the maelstrom named Edward Elric had made his destructive way away with Alphonse trailing behind, fingers steepled under his chin. "Lieutenant?" he called presently.

"Sir?" she questioned from her desk in the outer portion, where she was flipping through a stack of papers.

"What's the date?"

"I believe it's the 3rd of October," came the dutiful reply.

Mustang let out a soft chuckle, resuming his contemplative staring. Yeah, that report was never coming in.

And he didn't plan on pressing the issue.

OoOoO

Happy FMA Day, folks. I hope you celebrated by watching FMA and crying. Please review on your way out! (that door is fixed, by the way...destructo!Ed is great) Was the banter okay? I realise Ed is more angry than he might normally be, but I tried to make everyone in character. These precious babies.


End file.
